


The Break-Up Hand Up

by verdreht



Series: More Than I Deserve [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack, Pre-Slash, Sebastian's not as much of an ass as everyone thinks, and Blaine's not as much of an ass as he thinks he is, at least not to Blaine, at least not to Sebastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdreht/pseuds/verdreht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the break-up, Blaine's in the airport trying to figure out what to do. He knows he should go home, but he doesn't want to. He's alone and utterly shattered, and he ends up calling maybe the last person he thought he ever would: Sebastian Smythe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

The most pathetic thing was, he didn't really want to. He didn't want to think, because thinking about what he'd done, about the hurt on Kurt's face, the betrayal, when he told him what he'd done…it made him feel like nothing. Worse than nothing. He was despicable. The lowest of the low, and he  _hated_  himself.

He didn't want to speak, because there was nothing he could say. No words could make up for what he'd done. They couldn't wipe away the filth, the guilt that felt like it was rotting him away from the inside out. They couldn't take away the pain he'd seen in Kurt's, or the monster he saw staring back at him every time he saw his reflection.

He didn't want to breathe, because it  _hurt_. Everything  _hurt_ , and he couldn't bear it. But at the same time, he didn't want it to stop, because he  _deserved_  it. For what he'd done, he deserved every ounce of pain, every stinging tear, every regret. He deserved every moment of it, and it scared him, because he didn't think it would ever stop.

He ruined everything. He always ruined everything. His mom, his dad. Even his own brother knew he was a screw up; he'd just never wanted to believe it. But there was no denying it now, not after what he'd done.

The flight back was a blur. He hadn't slept the night before, hadn't been able to choke down even the single piece of toast Rachel had tried to push on him before he'd left. Kurt hadn't wanted to see him.

Blaine couldn't blame him; he didn't even want to see himself.

His bags got lost. He didn't care. It took an hour of standing there, watching people come and go as their flights landed, grabbing bags up off the conveyor belt, to realize his own wasn't coming, and another half an hour to remember how to move.

He didn't make it very far. A few steps, over to the wall. He slumped down, carry-on bag still tugging at his shoulder and hard tile cold against his ass. His eyes burned with fatigue or tears or some combination of the two, but they didn't fall. He just pulled his knees up to his chest a little tighter and tried to make himself small. Maybe if they didn't look at him, he wouldn't feel like they were judging him. And maybe if they didn't judge him, he wouldn't hate himself so much.

 _Not likely_.

It was pathetic; he knew it was. He was the one that had screwed up. He didn't deserve to be the one sitting there, wallowing. He didn't deserve to feel sorry for himself, and he didn't, not really. He didn't feel  _sorry_  for himself. He felt sorry for Kurt, for ever thinking he was a decent guy. For trusting him. For loving him. He deserved every ounce of anger he'd seen flushing those alabaster cheeks.

"Excuse me."

Blaine dragged his sore eyes up from the seemingly-random tile arrangement and up past a pair of comfort-over-fashion heels, some buy-in-bulk hose, a uniform skirt, and a size-too-small shirt and blazer combo that would've had the late Anna Elisabeth Jane Claiborne rolling in her coff—

He blanched. The voice in his head sounded too much like Kurt's, and it felt like there was a knife in between his ribs, just twisting and twisting. He choked back the sob that threatened to bubble up, fisting his fingers in his pants as he finally forced himself to look up to the woman's face. She was wearing one of those smiles that look like she put it on as part of her morning makeup routine, but it was probably better than the one Blaine tried to put on. It felt like he was carving his on his cheeks with shards of broken glass.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

 _No_ , he thought. "Yes," he said.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

He shook his head, because he couldn't muster up another word. No, he wasn't waiting on anyone. The person he'd been waiting his whole life for, he'd screwed things up with. He'd cheated on. He'd lied to. He'd broken the trust he'd never deserved in the first place, and there would never,  _never_  be anyone like that again. He was alone. Well and truly alone. Even his closest friends wouldn't stand by him after they found out what he'd done. He was the good guy. The kind guy. When they found out what he did to Kurt, what would he be? The liar? The cheat? The monster? They all felt more like a fit than anything he used to be, and God, oh God, it hurt so bad.

No, there was no-one coming for him.

The poor attendant seemed at a loss. "Did your bag not come through?"

"No, ma'am," he managed to say. A mantra of  _it's karma, and I deserve it,_  warred with a counter voice of  _please stop talking to me, please God, just leave me alone_. It was the latter that won out, though, when her painted-on smile got wider and she slapped her hands on the fronts of her thighs.

"Well why don't you follow me, and we'll see what we can do to get you sorted out."

He wanted to tell her that there was nothing she could do. A lost bag was the least of his problems. And unless she could track down his morals, his pride, and his conscience in the process, there was no sorting him out.

He followed her anyway, though, if only because he had nothing better to do. He filled out paperwork with an unsteady hand, signed on all the right lines. They found his luggage. Left in New York. He couldn't even laugh at the irony.

He left a lot of things behind in New York.

And then it was over. His bags would be in tomorrow, shipped to his house. Did he have a ride? He drove. Did he have a valet? No. Could he fill out a comment card? Yes. If only because it meant another ten minutes of mindlessness, and it was pouring down rain outside, and he really didn't want to go home. His dad…God, his dad.  _I told you so. I told you so. I told you so_. It echoed in his head, his dad's rough voice rough and mocking, and it churned his stomach.

_First you can't be straight, then you can't even be gay. What can you do?_

He nearly stumbled away from the desk, walking on shaky legs towards the bathrooms. He felt sick. His stomach tossed and turned. His head felt fuzzy. His eyes were blurry. His chest felt tight.

_Oh God._

He fell into the bathroom stall, doubling over the toilet just in time to throw up the two or three bites of toast he'd managed to choke down. He tasted acid and sawdust. His insides heaved. His chest wrenched. His eyes burned, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

He didn't want to.


	2. Chapter 2

He ended up on the bathroom floor, one leg bent awkwardly between the toilet and his chest, the other stretched out under the stall. The bottom of the stall wall bit into his back, but he didn't care. He felt separated. Detached. Vaguely, he registered that he was shaking. The floor was cold, and it was an airport; they always had that clinical chill. He didn't want to think about what else they had, especially on the floors of the toilets.

His stomach lurched again, but he didn't move. There was nothing left. At all. There was nothing left in him; he felt hollow. Used up. Spent. He wanted to cry, to scream, to shout, to throw his fists and elbows and head against the wall of the stall, but that meant he had to move, and moving meant he had to stop…drifting. Or whatever he was doing.

There was a phone in his hands. His phone. He didn't remember getting it out, just like he didn't remember slumping back against the stall, and really, wasn't this all kind of pathetic? He knew people that broke up every other week. But he hadn't broken up.

He'd broken down.

 _Pathetic_.

He wasn't sure whose voice that sounded more like: his dad's, or his own. Terrifying. It felt like he was changing. And he didn't like the man he was becoming.

He shuddered, hugging his arms tighter around himself. His thumb danced over the send key. Twitched. Touched. Retreated. Touched again. He wanted to push it, but he didn't want to push it, and then he didn't really care if he did or not. He just felt so alone. Crying in the bathroom stall at an empty airport. If that wasn't rock bottom, he wasn't sure what was.

"Hello?"

The sound of a voice startled him enough that he jumped, then winced as he hit his head on the corner of the toilet paper dispenser. Hard.

"Blaine?" said the voice, muffled and distant and vaguely metallic. It took Blaine longer than it should have for him to realize it was coming from his phone. It seemed his thumb had made the decision he couldn't; he'd called him.  _Him_. Capital 'H.' Italicized.

"Did you butt dial—Blaine?" Blaine had found the strength to put the phone up to his ear, but realized he hadn't quite managed to get his breathing steady. "Blaine, I know you're there. I can hear you mouth-breathing…is something wrong?"

And oh, God, that almost killed him. Because that was  _concern_  in his voice. Genuine concern that shouldn't have been there for someone that just texted him every few days and happened to cross paths at the Lima Bean. Concern that shouldn't have been there for someone like him, period. But it was there, and it was real, and it felt so good because someone finally,  _finally_  cared about him, but so bad, because it was too late. He'd already done something stupid. He'd already ruined everything.

"Where are you?" he heard Sebastian say. "Just tell me where you are." There was an edge to his voice. It didn't seem to matter that it was the ass crack of dawn. Not that, even. The sun wasn't up yet. He knew he'd woken him up. And now he was worrying him. He shouldn't have called him. He shouldn't have pressed send. He shouldn't have done anything that he'd done lately.

He swallowed back another wave of nausea, choked back the pain and the guilt enough to say, "I'm fine."

"Unless Ohio's geography changed while I was sleeping, that's not what I was asking. You  _are_  in Ohio, right?"

 _Why do you care?_  He should've just hung up. He started to pull the phone away from his ear.

"Blaine!"

Blaine actually jumped. Sebastian hadn't shouted, but he hadn't needed to; his voice was sharp enough that Blaine got the message loud and clear. Sebastian expected an answer, and he expected one soon. He guessed he should've known. 'Patient' was never a word he would've associated with the other boy.

"I'm at the airport." The words just kind of tumbled out of their own accord. Nothing else followed, though, and he was at a loss. He didn't know why he'd called Sebastian. Except that he did. He was lonely, and Sebastian…Sebastian was maybe the only person he could think of that wouldn't judge him. Wouldn't hate him, even if he deserved it.

The line was silent for a second, like Sebastian was waiting for him to say something. He wouldn't. He didn't know what  _to_  say, and the silence was deafening. Alone in the airport bathroom, head throbbing, insides churning, eyes stinging with tears he stubbornly held at bay. He was miserable. And it served him right.

But then there was rustling. It sounded like the phone was getting jostled around on Sebastian's end. "Alright, just sit tight."

"Why?" Blaine asked hoarsely.

"Because I'm coming to get you," Sebastian said, then added, "Obviously."

Blaine opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to tell him not to bother. He wanted to tell him he was fine, that Sebastian should go back to sleep and he was sorry for waking him up. He shouldn't have called. He had his car. He could drive himself. But he was having trouble summoning up the words. He made it as far as sucking in a breath, but then Sebastian beat him to it.

"Save it, Killer." It didn't sound harsh this time. It was…kind, almost. Exasperated, yeah, but there was something else to it. "I'll be there, just hang tight. Twenty minutes, tops." Even as he spoke, Blaine could hear him jingling some keys. "Want me to stay on the line?"

He was still worried; Blaine could hear that, too. He made it sound like he was afraid something had happened. He guessed something had. But he wasn't the victim. Everything that'd happened was his fault. He shouldn't have dragged Sebastian into this. And if there was no convincing him to just drop the whole thing, forget he'd called, let him find his own way home, because he'd put enough good people through enough trouble for one lifetime, then at least be as little of an inconvenience as possible.

"I'm okay," he lied.  _I'm not. I'm not okay. Not even a little bit._  "You don't have to come."  _But I need you to. I don't want to be alone_. He was so tired of being alone, of feeling like there was no-one that cared about him. Even Kurt—

 _No_. He shook his head. It wasn't Kurt's fault. What he'd done, it was on him and nobody else. He'd made the mistake. He'd screwed everything up, not Kurt.

"I know," Sebastian said after a second. "Twenty minutes." And then he hung up the phone.

Blaine didn't move. He kept the phone to his ear, staring straight ahead at the scratched out 'FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL' on the wall of the stall, trying to will himself to forget the 'good time' he'd had, and the fact that he'd ruined everything.

Trying to forget he'd just lost the love of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

The heavy bathroom door swung open with a groan. Blaine blinked. It felt like his eyes were lined with drying glue, sticky and brittle and sore, and he couldn't remember how long he'd been staring at the wall. Long enough to memorize the swirls of the faux-marble stall walls, to pick out all the digits on the scratched-out phone number except the second to last one. Enough for his head and neck to stiffen painfully, and his tailbone to ache.

"Blaine?"

It was the voice that really snapped him out of his daze. He blinked again, turning his head and ignoring the pop in his neck until he saw a pair of sneakers and jeans under the door of the stall. He didn't recognize them, specifically, but he did recognize that walk. Not quite the usual swagger, but he could chalk that up to being – he checked his phone – just shy of six in the morning.

It wasn't long before the sneakers were joined by legs as he came around the still-open door, then a lean figure with the kind of height Blaine had long since given up being jealous of, and finally a head of effortless just-got-out-of-bed CW hair that Blaine would recognize, even without the gel.

"Sebastian."

And then he was there, squatting down in front of Blaine. If he'd thought about the fact that they were in the bathroom of an airport, that he was kneeling on the floor of one, he didn't show it.

Sebastian smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I won't say this is the  _last_  place I expected to find you," he said by way of greeting. "But next to a Bait and Tackle and the basketball section of a Dick's Sporting Goods, I have to admit: it's up there."

Blaine didn't even have it in him to wonder if the basketball bit was some sort of crack about his height; he was too far gone for that. Instead, he blinked a few more times, bloodshot eyes mapping the planes of Sebastian's face. A familiar face. It didn't look hurt, didn't look betrayed, didn't look disappointed. If anything, beneath the mild and slightly-crooked smile, there was something that looked a lot like…concern. For him. Blaine almost didn't know what to do with it. It was everything he  _hadn't_  been steeling himself for since he first sat up on that stranger's bed.

"So, you tell me: is this the part where I ask what happened?" he went on. "Or is this the part where we get out of here, and you can tell me over a hot cup of coffee."

Blaine wasn't sure about the coffee. He wasn't sure he could deal with the familiarity of it. Coffee was one of  _their_  things. Which was stupid, because it was one of  _his_  things before it was one of  _their_  things. But that didn't seem to matter right then.

He shook his head and started to stand, both grateful and shamefaced when Sebastian rose first to steady him with a hand under his elbow. Not intrusive, not pushy. Just… _there_. Months ago, Blaine would've been surprised. He thought Sebastian was just this entitled, sardonic prick that did whatever he wanted and didn't care about the consequences.

But he'd meant what he'd told them that day at the Lima Bean: he'd turned over a new leaf. And while, from what little Blaine saw of him, he was still shamelessly sarcastic and erred on the side of 'jerk' more often than not, there were times Blaine saw little snippets of something different.

That was what this was, he thought. Another side of Sebastian.  _God, I'm turning into a Lifetime cliché._ As if that was the worst thing he'd turned into, lately.  _Not even close._

Mercifully, Sebastian didn't say anything. Not a word. Just walked with Blaine out of the bathroom, hand a steadying presence on Blaine's arm. It was insane, the amount of comfort even such a small thing provided. And at the same time, the amount of pain it inflicted. Because he didn't  _deserve_ it, and if Sebastian knew what he'd done, maybe he wouldn't take it as badly as the others, but he knew he'd lose something here.

"Bags?" Sebastian asked.

"New York," Blaine replied just as shortly, and Sebastian didn't push. It was kind of surprising actually. Blaine didn't know what he'd been expecting.  _Storm the customer service desk, demand it be rushed in a private jet and delivered by the manager of the airport in person_. He smiled wryly.  _Probably not_. Sebastian could be pushy, but not that pushy.

 _What do I know_? There he was, thinking about Sebastian like he really knew the guy. He didn't, though. Not really. He knew he could sing like a bird, scheme like a politician, and smile like a self-satisfied cat. And he guessed now he knew he could be…surprisingly considerate at times. Even if he was sort of obstinate about the way he did it.

But he didn't really know  _him_. And it occurred to him now that it was kind of a shame.

Something else occurred to him, too, when they got out to the parking lot. "My car." He started to veer off towards where he had parked, only for that hand on his elbow to clamp down and pull him back straight.

"Not so fast, Killer. You think I drove out here just to walk you to your car?" Blaine didn't need to look to know he was giving him a smarmy little eyebrow raise that would've made anybody else look like a complete tool but somehow fit on his face. "I can drive you back out here after school tomorrow. If the Shoobie-doo Gang aren't fighting over the chance."

Blaine nearly winced. Something told him by tomorrow, when word had inevitably gotten out, 'the Shoobie-doo Gang' wasn't going to be feeling too charitable towards him. And God. _School_. He hadn't even thought about it.

"Hey."

Blaine raised his head. He didn't even know he'd lowered it, but he caught Sebastian looking at him with that  _Look_  again.  _Please stop. Stop looking at me like that._  And for a second, he was afraid Sebastian was going to ask that question that he didn't want to answer. The one that was eating him up inside, hollowing him out until he felt like he would shatter and collapse in on himself. Like just one touch, and he would crumble.

But it didn't happen. Sebastian's hand was still firm on his arm, and nothing broke, nothing fractured, and Sebastian didn't ask any questions.

"My car's this way," was all he said, and that was all either of them said at all until they were both in the car. Blaine didn't even notice what kind it was. It was still dark out, and his head was too full of everything else. All he knew was that it was warm and dry and smelled vaguely of the cologne Sebastian always wore.

The music was on low as Sebastian pulled out of the parking lot. Nothing but the sound of the rain coming down on the windshield and the soft Top 20 playing over the sound system. He turned his head to stare out the window, watching the rain drip down the windows.

He blinked, and the raindrops were tears rolling down Kurt's flushed face. Angry tears. Pained tears. Betrayed tears.

He blinked again, and he was by the fountain. Kurt wouldn't even  _look_  at him. And he couldn't look at Kurt, because he knew he couldn't bear to see the hurt in his eyes. Because of him.

He blinked once more, and it was nothing but his own reflection in the window, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. Hair a mess. Skin blotchy and pale, still wearing the clothes he'd left in.

And the last time he blinked, the dam broke.

The sob bubbled up before he could stop it, and then the tears came, and the force of it doubled him over in the seat. He'd always been a quiet crier, as far back as he could remember, and even as his whole body shook and shuddered, he barely made a sound. Just curled up as tight as he could, as tight as the seatbelt and the awkward angle would allowed, and  _cried_.

It wasn't until he felt a long arm reach around his shoulders that he realized they'd stopped. Pulled over on the side of the road, but the cab lights in the car were mercifully still off. Sebastian didn't say anything, just pulled him away from the side of the car and held him as close as the console would allow.

Blaine was the one to break the silence. "I ruined everything," he choked out into Sebastian's shoulder, and it was like a floodgate he couldn't stop. "He wasn't answering my calls, and he never texted, and whenever we talked it was like he had something better to do. I thought—I thought he'd moved on, and I was lonely."  _Pathetic. Weak. Stupid_. "I knew it was a mistake. I knew it. But I did it anyway, and I had to tell him. I couldn't lie to him. I had to tell him, and I did—" his voice caught, and his fingers fisted in Sebastian's Dalton hoodie. "The way he looked at me…God, the look on his face. I broke his heart, for some stupid meaningless  _fuck_. And I hate myself, and I know he'll never trust me again. I screwed up! I always screw up, and I thought this time was different, but it wasn't. I can't even look at myself, and the others—when they find out what I did—" he lost his words to another round of sobs, harsh and wracking, because he could see it. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see it, their disappointment and disgust and their anger. "I don't deserve him. I don't deserve anybody."

At first, Sebastian's silence held. The sound of raindrops was his confession's only reception, and in Blaine's head, another face joined the others'. He'd been wrong to call Sebastian. To think he wouldn't judge him. Because nothing he'd done had ever been like this. Nothing he'd done had been this bad.

But then, the arms around him tightened, just briefly, and a warm hand curled around the back of his neck. Firm. Steadying.  _There_. And in his ear, Sebastian whispered just two words,

"You're wrong."


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, they ended up at the Lima Bean just as the sun was starting to rise. It didn't seem to matter that they both had school in a couple hours; Blaine disappeared into the bathroom when they got there in a pointless attempt to try to clean himself up, and when he came back, Sebastian was sitting at a two-seater table, a cup of coffee in his hand, and another across from him at the table. Medium drip.

"Thank you," Blaine said, voice a little hoarse as he sat down.  _Not just for the coffee_. And even then, it didn't seem like enough. He'd had no right to call Sebastian like he had, and Sebastian'd had no reason to come get him like he had. They didn't owe each other anything. They were friends, yeah, but not particularly close ones. And to Blaine, this seemed like something someone did with their best friend, the whole 'break-up hand up' thing.

Not that there was anyone else lining up for the job.

 _Gift horse. Mouth_ , he thought dryly, and took a sip of his coffee. It didn't matter that it was still scalding; it felt good to drink something warm. He felt cold, all the way in his bones. He  _ached_ , in such a deep, visceral way. Even just sitting there, doing something as normal as drinking coffee, was a welcome change.

He very pointedly didn't let himself imagine how many times he and Kurt had done the same thing. It helped that the table Sebastian had chosen was on the opposite side of the café from the one he and Kurt usually sat at. He wondered for a second if Sebastian had done it on purpose, then realized what a stupid question it was.  _Of course he did_. Sebastian didn't do anything accidentally.

"How's the coffee?"

Blaine snapped out of his little mental reverie at the sound of Sebastian's voice, looking up with tired eyes at him and blinking for a moment before he actually caught up to the question. "Good," he said finally.

"I got the right thing?"

It was only sort of a question, but Blaine nodded anyway. "Yeah." And then, as an afterthought, he added, "Thanks again. For everything, I mean."

But Sebastian waved him off, flashing him one of those smiles that probably made just about everybody swoon. It just made Blaine feel worse, though, because the way it crinkled up his eyes, it really made the shadows stand out that much more and reminded him that he'd woken him up at the ass crack of dawn.

"You don't have to keep thanking me," he said easily. It wasn't the sort of grandiose brush off, either. He genuinely seemed to mean it.

Blaine narrowed his eyes in what he  _hoped_  was a teasing expression. "Who are you and what have you done with Sebastian Smythe?"

It wasn't exactly up to par, but it got a chuckle from Sebastian, so it couldn't have been that awful.  _Or maybe he's just humoring me_. God, he hoped not. That was a level of pathetic even  _he_  was hoping to avoid.

"I killed him and stuffed him in the trunk of my car. I'm really just glad you didn't notice the smell."

He actually snorted, and then promptly winced.  _Oh God_. He groaned and dropped his head on the table. Now all he needed to do was pick his nose in public and he would've completed the Party Foul trifecta. He raised his head, though, when he felt Sebastian nudge his arm. "What?"

"Stop sulking," Sebastian said bluntly. It was a sharp change of pace from the good-natured teasing, and for a moment, Blaine was taken aback.

"I'm sorry?"

Sebastian didn't so much as blink. "I said stop sulking. Stop hating yourself. Stop all of it."

"I can't."

"Yes you can, Blaine. You just don't want to."

"Don't want to?" Blaine snapped a little louder than he probably should've, and then abated a little when the few people in the beanery turned to look at him.  _Super. Now we're making a scene._  He took a breath, then continued softer, "Why wouldn't I want to? You don't understand. I feel like a monster. Like the bad guy in my own personal Rom Com. I feel sick, like I can't breathe, and it  _hurts_ , Sebastian. It hurts so much.  _Why_  wouldn't I want to stop feeling like this?" he demanded.

"Because you're punishing yourself," Sebastian said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You feel bad about what you did—"

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"

"I'm not saying you shouldn't."

Blaine stopped short. "What?" He was confused. "What are you talking about?"

Sebastian sighed, then leaned forward across the table, eyes holding Blaine's firmly. "You hurt a good, albeit melodramatic, person, doing what you did. So yeah, feel bad. Have a good cry, listen to Celine Dion albums until your ears bleed, send him flowers and chocolates until you turn him fat and allergenic. But stop  _hating yourself_ , for God's sake." Reaching across the table, Sebastian put a hand on Blaine's arm. "You made a mistake, Blaine. A big mistake, but you're only human. We all do it; take it from someone who knows. But you're not a bad person. You're not a monster; you're not  _the bad guy_. You just screwed up."

"But I—"

"You know," Sebastian interrupted him unabashedly, "when you first told me what happened, I was a little surprised. Disappointed, even."

Blaine felt his stomach flip.  _Disappointed_. The word echoed in his head. He felt sick, and tried to pull his arm back, but Sebastian tightened his grip.

"Would you take a break from the angst and self-recrimination marathon in your head and listen to me for a second?" He sounded exasperated, and the eye roll kind of completed the look. "What I was trying to say before you jumped to conclusions, is that I  _was_  disappointed. To be honest, I kind of thought that if you were going to stray outside your bonds of exclusivity, it would be my bed you'd wander into." He paused. "That was crass."

"You think?" It was the best he could come up with, because honestly, he was kind of reeling from that development. Sebastian had never really kept it much of a secret that he was interested. Blaine just hadn't thought…well, that is, he hadn't considered…. "I really am an ass, aren't I?"

Sebastian let go of Blaine's arm just long enough to smack it. "I told you to cut that out," he said. "I also said  _was_. Note the past tense."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really not in the mood for a grammar lesson right now."

"Good. I wasn't planning on giving one. What I was planning to tell you was that, yeah, I  _was_  disappointed. For all of the ten seconds it took me to realize how miserable you were. I mean Jesus, Blaine, you'd think you were the Pope himself, not a high school senior. So you slept with  _one_  guy. And there you were, acting like you were the worst person alive."

Blaine frowned. "Want to keep belittling me some more, or did you actually have a point to all this?" Because so far, all he felt was worse. And stupid, to boot, for feeling that way in the first place.

"The  _point_ ," Sebastian said, "is that, as soon as I realized how torn up you were about all this, I was glad it wasn't me. Because I would never want to be the reason you felt like that."

Blaine stared at him. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked softly.

Sebastian gave a one-sided shrug. "To make a point, I suppose. You felt like shit for what you did; it doesn't take a genius to see that."

"That doesn't erase what I did."

"But it means you're not the ass you seem to think you are. So maybe just remember that, next time you start to grimace at your own reflection. You're a good guy. Probably one of the best ones I know. So take whatever time you need to get over it, try whatever you need to to get him back – if you want him back – but you're not the Anti-Christ. Any guy'd still be lucky to have you, Blaine Anderson."

For a moment, it was all Blaine could do to swallow back the lump that had risen in his throat. He'd never heard Sebastian talk like that. He'd complimented him before, yeah, but it was always so superficial. So feigned. This was…genuine. Earnest. And Blaine wasn't sure what to do with it, especially not now. He wanted to argue. To deny it. But he couldn't, not when Sebastian was looking at him like that. So, he said the only thing he could think of to say: "Thank you."

Sebastian scoffed, and just like that, it felt like the cloud hanging over the table cleared. "There you go again.  _Thank you_. Remind me to buy you a dictionary for your birthday."

"Remind you to buy me something for my birthday? I thought you said I  _wasn't_  an ass." It still rang in a little weak, a little strained, but he was trying. He really was trying to at least put on a brave face.

Smiling, Sebastian just drained the last of his coffee and nodded to the cup in Blaine's hand. "You gonna finish that?" he asked.

Blaine glanced down. He'd almost forgotten. But he nodded. "Yeah." Then he saw Sebastian's watch. "But I can drink it on the way, if you need to get to school. I know Dalton starts earlier than McKinley."

Sebastian let out a  _purely_  theatrical moan. "Don't remind me," he said, standing and nudging his chair back under the table with his hip. He held out a hand for Blaine to take, not because he really needed to be helped up, but mostly just…being friendly, Blaine guessed.

 _Friendly_.  _Huh_. What a thought. Sebastian,  _friendly_.

Weirdly, he realized he could really get used to it. Another time, though. For now, he accepted Sebastian's hand, and followed him out.

"I do miss the blazer sometimes," Blaine admitted lightly as they left the beanery.

To his surprise, though, Sebastian gave a dismissive sort of hum. "I don't know," he said. "Sometimes, I think I wouldn't mind a change of scenery."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. This is my first foray into the Glee fandom, so I'm still working on getting some of the voices down. If you like it, please leave kudos and comments!


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